Why
by Icicle Raindream
Summary: Aya needs something that Yohji wants to give him. *shounen ai*


Why

By: Icicle Raindream

Disclaimer: I'm in no way making any profit from this fic, seeing as all credit is due towards Koyasu Takehito and his staff for making this excellent anime series.

Notes: This fic was inspired by an anime convention I went to, where my friend and I sat for seven hours straight and watched shounen ai/yaoi movies--most of which were specifically dubbed just for the convention. I just thought maybe it would be a little sweet thing for people to sink their teeth into, and if you hate Aya (which a lot of people do), then maybe this'll make you feel differently. At least cut the poor guy some slack! Enjoy!

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The door in front of Yohji creaked open. The light from the hallway spilled into the room, half-illuminating it. His hand dropped to his side again, fingers brushing the smooth sanded lumber. The figure was on the bed.

Yohji walked, one carefully placed foot in front of the other, stealthily but not sneakily to the bed, his footsteps barely audible. The form slung on the bed didn't move. As he reached the bed, Yohji stripped. His mauve colored silk shirt slipped from his shoulders, the belt buckle clicked as it undone. The boots slid off easily with the black slacks, and Yohji was left in the flesh, standing before the person who was melted to the sheets.

He bent down and gently tugged the sheets out of the tightly clenched fists, allowing his body to slip in the covers, laying on top of the figure who was still lying so intently still, eyes fixed on the shadows on the ceiling. Yohji stared down into the eyes, trying to make them focus on him.

His one arm was down by his side, resting underneath the sheet, the other across his forehead, the fingers curled slightly. One leg was bent at the knee, the foot resting on the ankle of the straightened leg. Yohji could feel the fabric of the thick socks as it brushed against his own feet. The figure moved.

The eyes stared into the pits of blackness in Yohji's eyes. They were abstract, transparent, lifeless. They served no purpose, for the moment the figure saw nothing. The eyes blinked, sending a few crimson bangs down onto the face.

Yohji settled himself comfortably on the lanky form, feeling the heat rise through the clothes and touch his skin, warming him to the bone. His hand rested above one shoulder, the other coming up to wipe the hair back from his eyes. His shining, violet eyes. They were finally focused. Like radar lock. Yohji could hear the radar beeping incessantly in his head, mixing with the pounding of the other's heart. Aya took a deep breath; Yohji could feel him shake as he let it out, turning his head to the side.

Yohji's hands grasped his cheeks gently as he lowered his head to the pale neck. Hot lips meeting unsuspecting flesh sent a shiver through Aya, and his eyes closed. Yohji continued to caress the sweet skin with his lips and tongue, shifting Aya's delicate head to one side, then the other, trailing slurpy kisses. Aya's hand moved from his forehead to tangle in Yohji's thick blonde locks, holding the head closer. Yohji wanted to know what he needed. He wanted to give him what he needed.

Aya's breathing was heavier now, but he was quiet, not protesting nor encouraging either. Just accepting. Just needing. Yohji didn't know what exactly he wanted, though, with those eyes closed so tight. They might as well have been sewn that way.

Yohji's mouth moved from Aya's neck and he lifted his head to take a breath, bringing both hands to work on the buttons that lined the front of Aya's dark shirt. The soft cotton was split and easily spread past Aya's shoulders, unleashing more body heat onto Yohji's already bare chest. How could a person so warm feel so cold inside?

Yohji wanted to warm him up, to make him feel. His mouth and tongue continued its process of tenderly tasting hot skin, criss-crossing over already moist sections of Aya's torso. This wasn't sexual, it was supposed to be comfort. Yohji didn't know what he was trying to comfort in Aya, but he wasn't giving up. Both of Aya's hands were in his hair now.

Yohji slid up on Aya's body, rising so his face was directly over Aya's, looking into those violet eyes which had unexpectedly escaped their lidded prison for the time being. Aya looked back at him, unblinking, but not staring. They just looked. Minds shut off. Hearts thudded faster. Heat became all but overwhelming. Hands dropped from Yohji's head, over Aya's, indenting the plush pillow beneath Aya's maroon hair. Eyes searched. Aya's became too crowded. The liquid filled and threatened dangerously to spill. His head turned from Yohji's, into the pillow.

Yohji felt as the tear slipped down the warm cheek, over his finger to meet the cool linen beneath. Aya's head was turned back to Yohji's, to face him again. Yohji wanted to see his entire face.

Aya simply looked at him, didn't bother to stop the tears. They were prolonged liquid drops, salty tracks that languidly rolled in straight lines down the silky flesh. Aya took a deep breath.

"Why?"

His voice was nothing more than a whispering wind that kissed Yohji's ear and was sucked away into the half-darkness of the bedroom. If Yohji didn't know him so well he wouldn't have been able to tell he had spoken.

"Why?" The word was repeated, no louder, with no more urgency.

Yohji didn't know why. He didn't understand the how or why of it, or of anything. If he had the answer, he would give it such a what-for that his mind would forever shut off and no longer function. He wanted to give Aya the answer he needed, but he didn't know it. He couldn't know why. He couldn't find why. He couldn't explain why.

Yohji's finger brushed over Aya's half-parted lips, taking on a hue that was similar to the shade of his hair. His thumb ran over the bottom, to the right, to the left, then back, then back again, across, gently, stroking, trying to find why…

He lowered his mouth to Aya's, removing his hand and sliding them under the pillow. He could feel the urgency now, coming through Aya's lips to briefly pass through his own. The hands were back again, pulling Yohji closer, searching for the answer within him. Why. It wasn't there to be discovered and understood.

Yohji broke away when he felt Aya's chest jerk, as if he had tried to hold a sob in. The tears were gone as Yohji looked at him. The side of Aya's face went back into the pillow, trying to catch his breath. Maybe why was written somewhere onto the imported linen. Yohji watched as he tried to hold his breath, but instead he was overcome and it came out in heaves. Yohji's hands slid from under the pillow to under Aya's body, pulling him even closer, pressing chest to chest. He desperately wished for why. He wanted to give it to Aya.

Aya's right hand moved, dropped from Yohji to lean against his sideways forehead. Yohji saw it; the long scar that had once been a deep slice wound, curving around the thin wrist. The scar would be there always. How come why couldn't?

Yohji's hand rubbed the wrist, feeling how the scar was laced onto Aya's skin. His mouth briefly met it, then he dropped the hand to Aya's side, bringing his own to Aya's face. It looked at him again. Yohji just stared as Aya's breathing calmed; went back to normal.

Aya's violet seemed more open then, and his mouth moved. Even through all the dimness in the bedroom Yohji could see his lips, opening and forming the word. The hated word that Yohji couldn't find the answer to. Aya's voice never came. The shape of the word on his lips was lifted in the air to disintegrate and dissolve, but never be forgotten.

Then the one hand of Aya's that had been resting lightly on Yohji's back suddenly tightened, flattening against the hard muscle. It pulled arrogantly, and the other hand met it and worked together, desperately yanking Yohji closer. Aya's face was in his neck; Yohji could feel as his breathing became erratic again, hard. His fingers dug into Yohji's skin, held him so tightly against Aya's bare chest. Yohji held him. Felt Aya's mouth in the crook of his neck, trying to hold the sobs in, his tongue and lips sucking on the shoulder, the fingers gouging harder. Yohji knew he wanted his answer, and could kill himself for not having it for Aya.

Yohji's face was in the pillow, his eyes closed, just enough room for him to breathe. He felt Aya underneath him, trembling, holding, needing. All he could do was stay. He needed to stay. He needed to help him. He needed to give him what he wanted. He needed why.

Aya clung. He clung with every muscle in his body, shaking from the tremendous will power that had been conjured from his bones. This creature on top of him…he was there. He knew why Yohji was there. He just didn't know _why_ about everything else. He hated himself for inflicting this onto Yohji, but he couldn't let go now. He needed something, and perhaps part of it was Yohji's warmth, Yohji's hands, Yohji's willingness to give to him. Maybe if Yohji stayed forever he could find his answer. He didn't want Yohji to hate him. For now he just wanted to hold him, to try to regulate his breathing, to finish his tears. The ice inside would melt away some day. When he found why, it would be gone. But for now, he had Yohji. Why Yohji? Because nobody else. But that wasn't the why he needed answered. It was another why. One he hadn't been able to find for the latter half of his life.

Yohji held him back, squeezing his eyes closed tighter, feeling the pinprick against his shut lids. Aya's grip never loosened, but eventually the breathing slowed and became smoother. The flesh still tingled with the heat passing between the two bodies.

The salt and water mixture leaked from his eyes, soaked the cold sheet of the pillowcase. Aya was asleep, but he still needed the answer. He still needed something. As long as he still needed, Yohji's tears would still soak the pillow, and why would still be out there, if the two of them could ever find it.


End file.
